


The Wisdom of Watson

by breatheforeverypart



Series: Watson the Service Dog and his Partner-in-health, Bucky Barnes [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, HYDRA experiences, Implied Sexual Abuse, M/M, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Natasha and Bucky experience somatic flashbacks, Past Rape/Non-con, Red Room experiences, Watson the service dog, trigger warning for mentions of body memories related to sexual assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:29:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24007399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breatheforeverypart/pseuds/breatheforeverypart
Summary: Watson the Service Dog and his partner Bucky have settled into a comfortable pattern on those days that don't quite make sense.  Nothing in particular is triggering him as he gets ready this morning, but he does not feel 'normal'.  Watson tasks both with and without Bucky's initiation.  Bucky experiences somatic flashbacks (body memories), and finds his morning slow to start with added dissociative episodes.  Natasha suggests journaling as therapeutic exercise and extends understanding of this new trauma symptom.  Steve and Sam discuss what a caregiver needs in terms of support and Banner takes care of preparing the fruit needed to feed a bunch of Avengers!
Relationships: Avengers Team as Family - Relationship, James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Watson the Service Dog and his Partner-in-health, Bucky Barnes [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1758628
Comments: 4
Kudos: 46





	The Wisdom of Watson

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This story was written mostly as a way to work out my own triggers related to body memories and my own struggles with eating during quarantine. I live with anorexia (in recovery now), and have experienced a lot of the symptoms both Bucky and Natasha deal with throughout my works. 
> 
> Treat yourselves with kindness and reach out for help if you need support. <3

A whine penetrated the exhausted fog clouding Bucky’s brain. He rubbed his cheek against the pillow, awareness of his various body parts waking along with his mind. 

“No.” He groaned into the pillow. 

A paw caught the covers and tugged the sheet off of his back. The whine repeated, and a rough tongue licked his bare skin. 

“Ugh.” Bucky flipped onto his back, Watson’s face looming over him. “Morning bud.” 

The dog stretched and yawned, a low bark accompanying his tongue extending from his muzzle. 

“Where’s Steve?” He reached for his phone and found a scrap of paper. ‘Went for a run with Wilson, family breakfast when we get back.’ The smiley face that ended the note, so quintessentially Steve, helped him wake up. 

He tugged on a pair of jeans and long sleeve shirt. Watson leapt off the bed, automatically heeling with his partner before leaning heavily against his legs. Bucky scratched the dog’s head, the present suddenly blending with an intense urge to check the room for enemies. Watson nudged him, and he sat down hard on the edge of the mattress. A wet nose pushed at his fingers forcefully enough that the man blinked and turned his attention to the dog. 

“Okay bud. What do we need to do?” He moved his right hand in the motion similar to the American Sign Language sign for want. Watson eased the front half of his body over Bucky’s legs, his weight comfortingly heavy across his lap. This ‘lap up’ command that Kate taught them, came in handy multiple times a day. Steve like to joke that Watson got more time touching Bucky than he did. 

***

“Bathroom, meds, Communal Kitchen for breakfast.” He rubbed at the braided leash looped around his torso. The elevator doors opened and Watson pulled the man onto the roof. Unlike the majority of real estate in the city, Stark’s roof had a garden that rivaled Central Park’s collection of plants and trees. It not only offered Watson a place to pee, but a sort of solitude away from the chaos of the city that Bucky was growing to like. 

Watson relieved himself on a plant that smelled like mint and Bucky chuckled. “I’m gonna have to tell Banner to stay away from that herb.” The scientist loved to experiment with vegan cooking, and prided himself on his collection of genetically modified vegetables and spices. 

Watson returned to a tight heel and yawned. “Me too bud.” He flexed his fingers, repeating the next few items on his list. Saliva built in his mouth, and Bucky resisted the urge to spit. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton and throbbed. His body ached, although he did not exercise yesterday with the rest of the team. Banner had invited him to do light yoga and meditation with Nat, but he had declined. His limbs were heavy, and he felt compelled to curl into a ball and protect himself. Somatic memories. The term popped into his brain, he was vaguely aware of a session with his new therapist the week before where she had gently broached the subject of his intense flashbacks. She had explained that his body remembered what had happened to him, even if his brain couldn’t identify the specifics of the traumas. To Bucky, it sounded a lot like he was lying to himself. Therapy was proving to be an entirely new exhausting endeavor. He honestly could not give Steve an answer when he asked how each session went. Often, he took Watson into the bathroom after the appointments ended and alternated between dissociating and trying to manage the waves of emotions crashing against his brain. 

Watson scratched at the patch of grass along the path and licked at the individual blades. Oh, he was thirsty. Bucky poured some water into the collapsible bowl attached to the leash and brought the half empty bottle to his own lips. 

Logic told him he probably needed to drink water. Experience told him that he needed to hydrate in order to complete missions, but he couldn’t stomach the thought of swallowing. The reason why the bodily function in question sickened him, he knew Natasha would understand, but he could not make himself speak to her about any of the nightmares and recent triggers. Hell, even the thought of the sound his own body would be in taking a sip of the water disgusted him so much that he shuddered. 

Watson pressed his furry frame against his legs and huffed. Even though Bucky wasn’t keen on breakfast, that didn’t mean the dog couldn’t have some. “Okay punk, you ready?” His voice barely above a whisper, dissociated and repulsed by his very existence. 

The dog cocked his head and pawed at the button on the panel. The doors opened instantaneously, Kate had worked with Pepper to ensure that JARVIS would respond to Watson’s interactions with the software. He frequently lost the ability to speak when he became dissociated, Watson worked with his current level of abilities and the Tower to keep him safe. 

***

A disembodied voice spoke and startled him. “Mr. Barnes, you have arrived on the Common Floor, would you like the doors to remain closed?” 

Heavy paws pushed into his chest. Something was pinching his side, just above the kidney. A bar? Metal? Blinking, he looked around the space. Elevator. Right, it was time for breakfast. Using his prosthetic as leverage, he pushed himself off the floor. His vision tunneled for a moment and Watson braced his legs, tail wagging expectantly. 

“No, open them.” His voice stiff, his jaw still clenched tightly. 

The mechanics whirred, revealing an unusually quiet space. Natasha lifted her nose from the book in her lap and lifted her chin in acknowledgement. A frown still pulling at her lips. He took in the title, non-fiction and history related, she had not slept well either. 

Banner stood at the counter in the kitchen, quietly chopping enough fruit to feed an army. A podcast played in the background and the scientist nodded occasionally, engrossed in both tasks completely. 

Anxiety settled in his stomach, although he was not sure why. Internally he conducted a ‘systems check’. The floor was quiet, he had not had a seizure as far as was aware, Watson was eating happily at Natasha’s feet and family breakfast would be the start of a lazy weekend morning. No external stressors. That left his broken brain as the culprit. 

He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans and felt the bulge of his daily pill box. “Can I have some?” He reached for her drink. 

Natasha narrowed her gaze, assessing him for signs of trouble. “It’s tea.” She answered in Russian. “He’s not listening, if that’s why.” She gestured to the oblivious man a full room away from them.

He accepted the mug and shrugged. “Sorry. Didn’t know what language I was speaking, it’s been a weird morning.” 

“Anything you want to talk about?”

“No.” He popped the tablets into his mouth, wincing as he ingested them dry. He handed the mug back to his friend. 

She nodded. “Want to not talk, together?”

“Yeah.” He stretched the space between his neck and prosthetic, rubbing at the mangled scar tissue absently. Although Natasha would understand his odd morning, he could not make himself share these emotions with her. It was private, a pain he was loathed to relive himself, never mind drag anyone else into. Shame snaked through his abdomen, his head pounded with dozens of voices praising him, his body, his actions. He forced down the bile rising in his throat, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth. What he would give to be numb. Watson burped and Natasha murmured to him, scratching his head. 

She passed him the crossword puzzle and drew her legs to her chest to make room for the dog. The way that her body compacted itself against the furniture, seeking safety in distance did not escape his notice. Watson leapt into the open space, circling the fabric quickly, before curling into a tight ball and beginning a mid-morning nap. 

The dog’s nose squished into his thigh, a sort of alarm set to go off in case his partner moved. The trio settled into their parallel activities, the sounds and smells of breakfast and science in the background. 

***

“On your left.” Wilson huffed. “I finally caught up.” 

“That’s only because I was trying to unlock-” Steve tripped over the curb, hands catching Sam’s shorts. 

“Whoa!” He exclaimed, stumbling into the nearest shrub. “No need to pants me just because I beat you.” 

“Sure.” Steve grinned, barely sweating as he began their cool-down lap. “Bruce is making breakfast as we speak.” 

Sam blew out a breath, his heart rate settling back to normal. “He is?”

“Don’t worry, he saved the pancakes for you.” Steve teased, knowing how defensive Sam could be around the kitchen. 

“He better not mess with my flapjacks, my recipe is secret for a reason.” Sam threatened. “You can tell him that.” He glanced at his friend’s painfully slow texting. 

“He says Bucky and Natasha have been sitting in complete silence in the common room.” 

“That unusual?” Sam grimaced as his sweat soaked clothes began to shift in the breeze. 

“No, it just means neither of them slept well.” He answered distractedly. 

“How are you sleeping?” 

“Fine.” 

“Really?” He quirked an eyebrow. “You just tripped back there.” 

“I’m allowed to trip.” Steve deflected. 

He relented. “Yeah, but you don’t normally.” 

Rogers stopped, turning to face his friend. “Not great, I guess. He’s been defensive lately, more exhausted and less communicative.”

“Have you considered therapy?”

Steve drained a water bottle. “He goes.”

“Not what I meant.” Sam wound his headphones and pocketed them. 

“Me?” He laughed. 

“Why not?” Sam asked, his background at the VA impacting his stance. 

“Why?” He challenged, Steve’s posture matching Wilson’s. 

“He isn’t the only one that needs help. You deserve support too. Watson is helping, the therapy that he is getting through the VA and Stark’s plethora of private services is helping, but you’re still doing most of the heavy lifting on following through with recommendations, medications and exercises. How are you taking care of yourself?” 

Steve hung his head. “Running with you?” 

"You're doe eyes don't work on me Rogers. This conversation isn't over." Wilson shouted as the super soldier, sprinted away.

***

“Good morning.” Laura answered sleepily, the camera angle shaky. “Say morning Cooper.” The baby grabbed at her shirt and mouthed the fabric. 

“Hungry?” Natasha cooed, propping the phone up on her knees. “How are you Laur?” 

“Clint let me and this little monster sleep in, we were up most of the night anyway. Yay gas bubbles.” 

“Me too.” Bucky commented, out of view of the camera. 

“Yeah?” Natasha teased. “Gas kept you up all night too.” 

“Didn’t hear that part.” He mumbled, ears reddening in embarrassment. Watson stretched and cocked his head at the voices that overlapped each other. 

“Auntie Nat!” Lila trilled, Fitz humming as he circled his sister. “Hi, hi Mr. Bucky and WATSON.” 

Natasha lowered the volume on her phone as the sounds screeched from the device. “Hey lovelies. Can I talk to Dad?” 

Jemma plucked the phone out of her younger sister’s hands. “Good morning. How are you today?” 

Nat smiled tiredly. “How are you Jems?”

“Alright. Thank you for asking.” She answered politely, the camera capturing Hawkeye removing a baking tray of bacon from the oven, his hole-ridden pajama bottoms the center of the shot. 

Natasha snorted, shoving the phone over Bucky’s crossword puzzle for him to see. 

Bucky squinted at the moving stream. “Barton, are you seriously wearing Captain America jammies?” 

Clint whirled around. “Morning!” He waved a spatula at Bucky. “They are seriously comfy.” 

“Mr. Rogers and Mr. Wilson are on their way up. Mr. Banner, Mr. Stark and Miss Potts have declined the invitation to breakfast.”

“Thanks JARVIS.” Banner wiped his hands on a dishcloth and heaved the bowl of freshly cut fruit towards the dining table. 

Natasha ended the call with Barton, promising to call later. “Ready?” She asked Bucky, noting the dread etching his face. 

“Are you?” He countered. 

“No.” She sighed. “But I don’t have a choice and neither do you.” 

Bucky felt his face warm in humiliation. Damn, he had lost his poker face. “Fine.” 

Natasha rolled off the couch, offering her hand to her friend. “How long?” 

“Last night, I don’t know. I woke up and my body just, it feels like I got back from a mission.” He looked at her, watching her face for signs of understanding, that she could read between the words that he had used. 

She nodded. “You know why your body hurts, but you do not want to delve into the specifics. Not now.” Natasha picked at skin on her thumb. “I know what you are feeling.” She added in Russian, her voice barely above a whisper. 

Bucky swallowed hard, his body flooded with sensations and memories that did not feel like his, but hurt all the same. 

“Do you journal?” She asked, Watson licking her hand. Natasha smiled at the dog, he stopped her from reopening the injury on her finger. 

“No, do you?” 

“Yeah.” Natasha answered. “Sometimes, the writing helps me organize my thoughts. The memories that don’t make sense. I’ll drop one off for you this afternoon.” Abruptly she turned away from her friend and moved into the kitchen. 

Steve and Sam barreled out of the elevator. “Hey Buck.” 

“Hey.” He moved into Steve’s sweaty arms. “Good run?” 

“Yeah, it’s really nice out.” The super soldier peered into the kitchen. “Do you want some coffee?”

Bucky’s stomach roiled, but he pushed aside the urge to refuse breakfast. “Maybe some tea?” 

“That we can do.” Steve squeezed his partners shoulder. 

Recovery was not linear. Progress was slow, but not immeasurable. A cup of tea, a choice made to sit amongst friends, and words admitting how he felt were evidence of his life. A life that he had started with Steve. His world had expanded to include Natasha, Sam, Watson and Tony Stark of all people. 

Bucky smiled to himself and leaned against his partner’s side. Watson dropped at toy at his feet and tilted his head expectantly. Perhaps this day had potential.


End file.
